


Six

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Six Feet Under
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-12-22
Updated: 2003-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-25 08:06:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1640498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brenda makes a decision</p>
            </blockquote>





	Six

**Author's Note:**

> Written for nicole

 

 

The motel is called Celebration Inn. The big neon sign makes a weird buzzing sound like swarming mosquitos that will stay in my ears until I leave. The B and the R don't light up anymore. Billy is fidgeting beside me in the lobby. He's been fidgeting since we left my place, yet neither of us have spoken a word to each other. I'm afraid that if I open my mouth we'll both be back in the car within seconds, heading toward the city. 

The front desk clerk takes his time finishing his chocolate bar. When he finally tosses the wrapper toward the trash can he misses and it lands on the floor in a tiny little silver heap. He looks like he's about sixteen and his stringy blonde hair hangs in front of his eyes so that I'm not sure if he's looking at me or not. 

"Just the one night?" he asks. 

I nod my head and he turns to grin at Billy. 

"So you'll be paying in cash then?" 

This is unbearable, I think to myself. I don't know what I'm doing here. I don't answer him, I just reach into my wallet for the crinkled bills. I want to prove this little asshole wrong. I'm angry at him for assuming. I want to call him a pervert and then show him our birth certificates, but I can't decide if it would make me feel better or worse. 

He's still smiling at Billy and I can hear Billy shuffling his feet behind me, unable to stay still. I don't know if Billy knows what's going on. I don't know if I know what's going on. 

"Room number six, just around the corner." 

I take the key and turn around to face Billy. Our eyes meet for the first time since we left my house and it feels like somebody punched me in the stomach. Hard. He looks scared and unsure and I feel like we're little kids again, the two of us against the world. He tries to smile at me, but it only makes his face look stretched and weird. He takes a shaky little breath and I know I have to do this for my little brother. 

The door to number six sticks and Billy has to put all his weight into it to get it to open. When he finally bursts through we both stand in the doorway, him inside, me outside. 

"Billy..." I start, unsure of how I'm going to continue. 

Billy squeezes his eyes shut tightly for a few seconds and then opens them again. I remember he used to do that when we were kids, to make sure everything was real. He bites his lip and brings a hand up toward my face. Instead of feeling his fingertips graze my cheekbones like I had expected, he rests his shaking hand on the door frame and I only feel the still summer heat. I'm only mildly surprised at the disappointment that immediately wells up in my chest. 

"Billy," I say again, only it comes out louder and more solid. His whole body is shaking now and he's gripping the door frame so hard that I can see his knuckles turning white. I step inside the room carefully, slowly closing the gap between our bodies. Billy smells like home to me, like the happiness of childhood and the comfort of unconditional love. 

Unconditional, I remind myself. 

We're so close now that I'm breathing in the air that he's breathing out. His eyes are shut again, though only barely. I can see his long eyelashes fluttering against his pretty cheeks. The only thing I can think of doing is kissing each one of his closed eyes. So I do. 

I reach up and put my hands on either side of his face, gently pulling him down to my level. His eyelids feel like velvet under my lips and his breath is warm against my throat. He lets out a tiny whimper and I realize he's still gripping the door frame, still shaking like a leaf. 

"Brenda. Brenda, please," he says. 

His desperate, pleading tone puts a lump in my throat. 

"Make it stop hurting," he whispers. 

Only when our lips finally meet does he let go of the door frame, gripping the back of my shirt, hands still trembling. And there, standing in the doorway of room number six bathed in a neon glow, I realize this isn't about Billy. It's all, all about me. 

Billy is urgent now, and our teeth keep clicking together. He's pushing my shirt up and his hands against the bare skin of my back make me feel more alive than I ever have before. It scares me. I pull away and turn around to shut the door. I need to stop for a second and breathe before I turn back around. I can hear Billy's heavy breathing behind me. My hand is still on the door handle. 

"Brenda you don't have to." he says. His voice sounds small and strained. "I don't want you to think I... I mean, if you don't want to, it's not... I'll be okay." 

I have to smile a little at that. Stupid Billy. I can think of a million times he's said that to me before, but I can't remember a single time I've ever believed him. 

"No, Billy," I say turning around. "I don't think either of us are going to be okay." 

His hair is all messed up and there's a little smudge of lipstick at the left corner of his mouth. He looks like he hasn't slept in weeks. 

"You realize this is seriously fucked up, right?" I ask him. 

He doesn't say anything back, just pinches the bridge of his nose like he has a headache. 

"Billy. We can't take this back." 

"Do you think I don't know that?" he says suddenly, his eyes blazing in the dark room. "I've been seriously fucked up since the day I was born. We both have. I don't see how this is going to make a difference." 

I nod slightly and take a deep breath. All I can think about is every stupid date I ever had, every time I made out in some random guy's car or fucked some random guy in an unknown bed. All I can think about is how many times I pretended not to be thinking about Billy. 

"Brenda," he whispers. "I love you." 

I know he does, and that's enough. 

Before I even know it's happening I'm laying on the floor. My shirt and bra are beside me and Billy's eager hands are fumbling with the button on my jeans. The bed is too far away, too foreign, too traditional. He hooks his fingers under my panties and pulls, sliding them down my legs. 

For a minute I lay there, eyes closed, stretched out naked on the rough grey carpet. When I open my eyes Billy is kneeling between my thighs, shirt off, pants unbuttoned. The light from the neon sign casts a red glow on the right side of his face and chest. His hands are clenched in fists in his lap and he's looking at me with frightened eyes. He's shaking again. 

"It's okay Billy," I say in what I hope is a soothing voice. "It's okay. You can touch me." 

His head jolts up at the sound of his name, but he doesn't move. I pull myself up and slide in close to him. 

"You're allowed to touch me. I want you to." 

I slide my hands over his and he slowly unclenches his fists. I kiss him lightly on the lips and then I pull his hands to my face. We're both kneeling now, and the carpet feels like steel wool under my bare knees. 

"Where do you want to touch me Billy?" I whisper. "It's okay." 

I let go and his hands stay where they are, our faces so close that our noses are touching. His hands falter a little and then they slide down my face, over my neck and down my arms. Billy looks at me questioningly and I nod. 

"I want you to." 

His right hand slides over to my left breast. It feels warm and good and I let out a little gasp when he pinches my nipple. And then his mouth is on mine again, kissing me sloppily. He licks down my neck and bites my earlobe and it feels so good that I forget everything else. All I can think about is getting his clothes off, feeling his naked body slide against mine. 

His hands are roaming all over now, over my ass and down my thighs. His fingers slide down my stomach and through the small patch of brown curls. When he presses down on my clit I moan like it's the first time I've ever been touched there. I bite down on Billy's bottom lip and he licks at it quickly, his tongue darting against mine. 

"Billy," I gasp into his mouth. 

And then I push him back onto the carpet, slightly pleased at the little noise that comes out of his mouth when he hits the ground. I straddle him and push my hips forward against the rough denim of his jeans. I can feel his hard cock underneath me, struggling against the clothing. He's whimpering now, like a little boy. 

"Oh God, Brenda," he pants. "Please, please." 

I slide back and let my finger trail from his belly button down to the waistband of his boxers peeking out from his open fly. Then I hook my fingers in his belt loops and tug his jeans down his long legs. When I look back up, Billy is propped up on his elbows, his eyes pleading with me, desperate and wanting. I can see the outline of his cock under his boxers. I keep my eyes connected with Billy's as I pull them off. 

He's shaking so hard now that it's almost frightening. I move closer, pushing him up against the dresser. 

"I need you Brenda, I need you," he whispers. I don't even think he knows what he's saying anymore. 

"I know," I say. "I know." 

When I finally sink down onto him I think my heart is going to break. Billy lets out a gushing breath of air and as I start to move up he lets my name slide out of his mouth. He says it over and over as I slide back down, our bodies pressed against each other, his hands clutching desperately at my hair. 

"Shhhhhh, calm down," I say, trying to soothe him, worried that my voice will break. 

Our hips are rocking together now, my knees rubbing against the carpet and stinging like crazy. Billy has stopped chanting my name, now he's only whimpering and grunting. 

I don't want it to end. I don't want to leave this ugly, dark motel room where I've done the only thing in my life that's ever felt right. 

But when Billy finally tenses up and lets out a choked "I love you," we both scream out our orgasms into the tiny room and I fall back onto the carpet, panting and sweating. 

When I've caught my breath I look up at Billy, leaning against the dresser, knees pulled up to his chest, head in his hands. I know I've broken him. Silently, I pull him into the bed, wrap the covers around us and kiss his face. 

"Billy. Billy. I love you," I whisper. 

After he falls asleep I can't stay in the bed with him. Every breath he takes, every time he moves, I hurt a little bit more. We lay on our backs on seperate beds, the dirty sheets engulfing the silence that lies like a universe between us. 

I dress quietly in the dark, careful not to make a noise. I trip and fall into the table and I check to see if it's woken him up. I know it hasn't. I walk slowly go the door and try to breathe normally. Each minute my lungs feel smaller. Each minute it takes more of an effort to force the oxygen into them. I worry that if I don't leave now I'll wake up tomorrow morning suffocating in my too big hotel bed. 

There are scrapes in the door, big ones in the top right corner and rows of thin ones underneath the handle as though someone had been trying desperately to escape. I lean my forehead against the wood and let my fingertips hover on the cool metal of the door handle. 

I can hear Billy breathing in waves behind me. I wonder how he'll feel when he wakes up. I wonder if he loves me more than I love him. 

It's still hot out and the air is sneaking in through the cracks between the door and the room. I can feel it on my feet and on my right hand. 

"Billy," I whisper softly. I don't know what I would say if he were awake. It seems like ages since we've had a real conversation. 

When I turn around his lips are parted slightly and I can almost see the air moving between them. I want to slide down his body into the bed and huddle under the shets with him. I want to do that and have it make everything okay. 

I see his eyes opening before I realize it's happening. He blinks a few times and then yawns as he nestles his head back down into his pillow. My eyes go wide. I can feel them, but I can't make myself move. Billy just stares at me. He stares at my face and at the door and at the car keys in my hand. 

"You're going," he says. Not a question. He knows. 

I say nothing. Instead I look down at my feet, one sneaker clad toe pressing hard into the ugly brown carpet. 

"Brenda," he says. My head snaps up and it hurts a little bit in the back of my throat. Billy pulls himself up into a sitting position. 

"Brenda" 

This time the hurt in the back of my throat becomes an ache. A full-out, burning, fist-clenching ache. 

When I get to the car my hands grip the steering wheel hard, the skin around my knuckles stretching tighter and tighter until I'm sure cracks will form between them and bright red blood will spill out. 

After a few minutes I start the car and pull out onto the highway. I don't know where to go. I feel dead inside. 

I know it had to happen. I know it had to happen the same way that I know I can't go back. There are so many times like that, moments you can't change, decisions you can't take back that stand out like markers, charting the course of your life. A million things could happen between those points, but somehow you still end up there. 

I think about Billy, sitting in the hotel, abandoned. I think about me, driving to nowhere, so alone that I can't feel anything. I think what a waste it is, what a stupid, stupid waste. And I think that once, very briefly, I was happy. 

 


End file.
